Read Online Almost a Lady by Heidi Betts - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Heidi Betts
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, Romance, Contemporary, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Crime, Private Investigators
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thought of sitting through dinner with him. She cleared her throat. “I'm not feeling very well."
"It's no wonder, staying cooped up in this room all day. You need a hearty meal and a bit of fresh air. Perhaps after dinner we could take a walk through the park. I hear it's lovely this time of year."
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “You're not going to leave me alone, are you?” When she looked up, green eyes sparkled down at her.
"No,” he answered.
"You're going to stand here until I agree to go to dinner with you."
A smile was his only answer.
"I'm not even dressed,” she tried one last, desperate time.
"I'll wait."
"Of course you will,” she muttered to herself. “Stay here,” she grumbled, and shut the door in his face.
She returned several minutes later, far from happy but resigned. The sooner she tamped down any curiosity Brandt might be harboring, the sooner she could get on with her investigation.
She ran a hand over the front of her bodice, assuring herself that she hadn't missed a button in her rush to dress. “Let's go,” she said and walked past him, the lack of enthusiasm in her voice matched only by the sour expression on her face.
Brandt stared after her for a moment, watching the gentle sway of her hips as she moved down the hall, lavender blue skirts trailing behind. He didn't know why he should be attracted to a woman with such a surly disposition, but he couldn't help the arousal that leapt in his veins when he looked at her. Of course, with the way Willow walked . . . and talked . . . and breathed, any man would be hard-pressed not to feel a little something stir to life below the belt.
In a few long strides, he caught up, taking her arm despite an initial struggle. Neither of them spoke until they reached the hotel dining room and were seated.
He studied Willow across the table, taking in her upswept auburn hair, adorned with a small bouquet of violet fabric blossoms. The deep purple of the flowers blended attractively with the lighter periwinkle of her gown.
"You look lovely,” he said.
Suspicious eyes peered over the top of the tall menu. She didn't respond.
"That color brings out the violet of your eyes."
Willow closed her menu with a nourish . She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut as the waiter approached.
Good timing, Brandt thought, positive Willow had intended a scornful reproach for his attempt at politeness.
Her brittle composure and angry demeanor never seemed to falter. From the moment they'd met in Robert Pinkerton's office, she had remained boldly confident and outwardly hostile, visibly seething over his interference in an investigation she deemed hers, and hers alone.
They would butt heads at every turn, he was sure. Willow would do everything in her power to keep him from discovering Charles Barker's murderer. He would do everything in his power to show her that he was in this to the end—even if it meant becoming her shadow.
Wouldn't that just rattle the hell out of her? Brandt smiled to himself as Willow ordered the coquilles St. Jacques Mornay . He requested the same, and a bottle of wine.
Willow downed her first glass of chilled chardonnay in one long swallow. He refilled her glass before commenting.
"You don't like me very much, do you?” he asked.
"Not very, no,” she answered bluntly.
He chuckled, amused by her assertiveness. “Why not?"
She took a sip of wine, then licked the rosy liquid from her lips. The action burned a path straight from his eyeballs to the center of his groin. He shifted a bit to the left and awaited her answer.
"There are so many reasons not to like you, it would take me all night to list them."
"Try. If you're going to hate me, I at least deserve to know why.” Perhaps what was sure to be her ice-cold honesty would douse the ardor that made it hard to find a comfortable position.
Willow set her glass aside, brows knit in concentration. “Let's see,” she said. “You are obnoxious."
He threw a
"It's no wonder, staying cooped up in this room all day. You need a hearty meal and a bit of fresh air. Perhaps after dinner we could take a walk through the park. I hear it's lovely this time of year."
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “You're not going to leave me alone, are you?” When she looked up, green eyes sparkled down at her.
"No,” he answered.
"You're going to stand here until I agree to go to dinner with you."
A smile was his only answer.
"I'm not even dressed,” she tried one last, desperate time.
"I'll wait."
"Of course you will,” she muttered to herself. “Stay here,” she grumbled, and shut the door in his face.
She returned several minutes later, far from happy but resigned. The sooner she tamped down any curiosity Brandt might be harboring, the sooner she could get on with her investigation.
She ran a hand over the front of her bodice, assuring herself that she hadn't missed a button in her rush to dress. “Let's go,” she said and walked past him, the lack of enthusiasm in her voice matched only by the sour expression on her face.
Brandt stared after her for a moment, watching the gentle sway of her hips as she moved down the hall, lavender blue skirts trailing behind. He didn't know why he should be attracted to a woman with such a surly disposition, but he couldn't help the arousal that leapt in his veins when he looked at her. Of course, with the way Willow walked . . . and talked . . . and breathed, any man would be hard-pressed not to feel a little something stir to life below the belt.
In a few long strides, he caught up, taking her arm despite an initial struggle. Neither of them spoke until they reached the hotel dining room and were seated.
He studied Willow across the table, taking in her upswept auburn hair, adorned with a small bouquet of violet fabric blossoms. The deep purple of the flowers blended attractively with the lighter periwinkle of her gown.
"You look lovely,” he said.
Suspicious eyes peered over the top of the tall menu. She didn't respond.
"That color brings out the violet of your eyes."
Willow closed her menu with a nourish . She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut as the waiter approached.
Good timing, Brandt thought, positive Willow had intended a scornful reproach for his attempt at politeness.
Her brittle composure and angry demeanor never seemed to falter. From the moment they'd met in Robert Pinkerton's office, she had remained boldly confident and outwardly hostile, visibly seething over his interference in an investigation she deemed hers, and hers alone.
They would butt heads at every turn, he was sure. Willow would do everything in her power to keep him from discovering Charles Barker's murderer. He would do everything in his power to show her that he was in this to the end—even if it meant becoming her shadow.
Wouldn't that just rattle the hell out of her? Brandt smiled to himself as Willow ordered the coquilles St. Jacques Mornay . He requested the same, and a bottle of wine.
Willow downed her first glass of chilled chardonnay in one long swallow. He refilled her glass before commenting.
"You don't like me very much, do you?” he asked.
"Not very, no,” she answered bluntly.
He chuckled, amused by her assertiveness. “Why not?"
She took a sip of wine, then licked the rosy liquid from her lips. The action burned a path straight from his eyeballs to the center of his groin. He shifted a bit to the left and awaited her answer.
"There are so many reasons not to like you, it would take me all night to list them."
"Try. If you're going to hate me, I at least deserve to know why.” Perhaps what was sure to be her ice-cold honesty would douse the ardor that made it hard to find a comfortable position.
Willow set her glass aside, brows knit in concentration. “Let's see,” she said. “You are obnoxious."
He threw a
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